


But it Might Just Save Your Life

by Smallswritesstuff



Series: "Hey There, Soldier" [7]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Disabled Character, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Sparrow Timeline, time travel fixed-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29459073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smallswritesstuff/pseuds/Smallswritesstuff
Summary: When told to lay low in the new timeline, Klaus, Allison, and Vanya establish an informal Brokenhearted Book Club. Klaus decides to take on Dune, only to change his mind when he encounters an even more intriguing sci-fi title at the library, featuring a familiar face on the inside cover.
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz
Series: "Hey There, Soldier" [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016610
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	But it Might Just Save Your Life

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “Power of Love” as featured in Back to the Future, for reasons that will hopefully become apparent. 
> 
> I haven’t read Dune in its entirety. I’m mainly just looking forward to the movie adaptation because it features both Zendaya and Oscar Isaac, and I am pathetically bisexual.
> 
> For some reason, this series now has a playlist with one song to represent each fic: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/76PncKGiDBsaq1kSGE2mfA?si=5TuWU1zlRpS6JHacwwOlZA

It’s the last morning of leave in that colorfully-wallpapered Saigon motel.

Klaus throws on pants and his tee before towel-drying his hair in the foggy mirror. They’ll be back, he knows, eventually. He just doesn’t know how the next time could ever feel as incredible as this one. Then again, time on leave means time spent with Dave. As new as that revelation is, he doesn’t think he’s going to get over it anytime soon.

He exits the bathroom in a cloud of steam. And there’s Dave, laying back atop an unmade bed. He barely looks up. He’s scanning through the first few pages of a beat-up paperback copy of _Dune._

 _  
_Klaus remembers him talking about it, during nights in the jungle when they were both wide awake and so goddamn nervous. It’s some big and complicated science fiction story about a guy named Paul and a really important spice that might also be drugs. And it’s Dave’s favorite book. Apparently, he had planned to spend his mornings on this leave rereading it cover-to-cover.

After that first night at the club, those plans more or less fell through. But Dave certainly hadn’t complained.

Klaus drops onto the bed and slides his way into the curve of Dave’s arm. Dave places the open book on the nightstand, page-side down. He turns his attention to Klaus and holds him close, nose buried in his damp and shampoo-sweet hair.

“Welcome back, darlin’,” he murmurs. He presses a lazy kiss onto his forehead.

Klaus hums happily. “You gonna read me some of that?” he asks.

“What?” Dave glances toward the abandoned _Dune,_ then back. “No.”

“Why not? I want to know what the big fuss is about.”

Dave gives a flustered little grin. “It’s just... not the kind of book you read aloud.”

“You know I’m never gonna read it on my own,” Klaus protests. “I’m hardly literate, Katz. I can’t get through the long, boring stuff.”

“What about your sister’s memoir?”

“Only made it through the first few chapters,” Klaus answers. “In rehab, I left it open on my bunk so Ben could flip through it and tell me the interesting parts later.”

“Pretty good system,” Dave admits. “What did he report?”

“Oh, trauma, neglect, death, decay, blah blah blah,” Klaus answers. “I mean, I already know how shitty our childhood was. I was there. Talked about it enough times in that stupid group.” He then threads a soft whine into his voice, nestling his head closer against Dave’s shoulder. “C’mon. Can you please get back to your book?”

“You just said it was boring.”

Klaus tilts up and places an innocent kiss just underneath Dave’s jaw. “I think it’ll be bearable if you’re the one reading it.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Dave mutters, but he’s already reaching for the book with his free hand. He doesn’t bother with context - he knows it’s really not all that important right now. 

“‘The dream faded’,” he begins, voice relaxed and grainy. 

Klaus closes his eyes contentedly. He lets the warmth of his tone wash over him, grounded by the low rumble of his chest as he speaks. He knows they’ll be called back onto the bus in a matter of hours, dragged right back out into the heat and fear and darkness of the jungle. But here, in the calm and quiet of this tacky room - _their_ room - it feels like they’ve got all the time in the world.

“‘Paul awoke to feel himself in the warmth of his bed -- thinking… thinking. This world of Castle Caladan, without play or companions his own age, perhaps did not deserve sadness in farewell…”

  
  


…

…

…

  
  


**_...Dr. Yueh, his teacher, had hinted that the faufreluches class system was not rigidly guarded on Arrakis. The planet sheltered people who lived at the desert edge without caid or bashar to command them: will-o’-the-sand people called Fremen--_ **

Klaus slides his makeshift, folded-up paper bookmark between the pages and shuts the book on the table in front of him. He closes his eyes and rubs his face, trying to clear up his mind. He tunes into the soft shifting and hushed tones of the library around him. It’s impossible to stay focused. And _Christ,_ does he need a drink.

Sometime after arriving in the new timeline, Five had snapped. _Hard._ One morning, in the cheap hotel the family had moved into after the Sparrow Academy kicked them to the streets, he’d demanded his siblings stay the hell out of his way while he found them a path back home. After an argument that burned on for far longer than it should have, they’d agreed to “sit tight”, “shut up”, and do the best they could to not cause irreparable damage to the timespace continuum “for one goddamn week”.

For Allison, always the levelest head in times of disaster, that meant checking out a dusty old copy of that book Raymond had gotten her as a pre-anniversary gift. For Vanya, it meant getting back to the keyboard, once again attempting to make sense of her last year of insanity through written word. It snowballed from there into something Allison had passingly dubbed the Brokenhearted Book Club. It was a club in name but not in function. All it really meant was that they would escape the dismal quarantine of their hotel at the library right across the street, trying feebly to pay respects to the ones they lost through literature. Klaus’s participation had required a good amount of persuasion, but Allison was hellbent on getting him a productive hobby where he could be gently supervised and out of walking distance from a bar. 

Klaus hadn’t really known what to do about Dave. In this version of reality, Dave never really knew him. If he had died on that hill, as Klaus is almost completely certain he had, there would be no point in contacting him. He doesn’t see the use in conjuring a stranger to weep with, or vent to, or to say I Told You So.

When he’d finally agreed to join the Hargreeves Sorority for Grief and Suffering, he’d picked up _Dune,_ hoping futilely that it might give him a missing piece. Hoping it would somehow help him with his closure, like Vanya and Allison were aiming for with their own self-assignments.

But here’s that stupid book, staring up at him from the table, taunting him. He’s barely ten minutes into it, and he’s already starting to doubt that memorizing this laundry list of made-up proper nouns is going to be worth the struggle.

He’s a visual learner, he tells himself. And an oral one. _(Oral? Or aural?)_ He needs to know what he’s getting into, and he’s sure there are plenty of video resources online. He stands up from his seat and takes a glance over the front cover of the book, some shiny jacketed anniversary edition. He has to look this Franklin Herbert Bastard in his pretentious face and hear what the hell his problem is.

On his way across the room, he passes by Allison, lounging in an armchair with her nose stuck in _From the Earth to the Moon._ The computer monitors on this floor are nearly a foot deep. He finds Vanya typing away at one, on the end of a long table. He offers her a silent salute, and she acknowledges him with a toast-like lift of her iced coffee. Then, he logs into the computer across from hers and begins his search.

He scrolls down through film-related interviews for a while until he finds a seldom-viewed clip from a local talk show, uploaded within the decade but dated January 1969. He plugs some borrowed headphones into the computer and lets it play.

The recording is predictably fuzzy, occasionally flickering, the colors just a little too oversaturated. The host, a neat and energetic middle-aged gentleman, sits at a desk in a button-up and comfy cardigan. 

“Good day, ladies and gents, and welcome to another episode of Bay Area Reads, a weekly review of the most-read literary titles in San Francisco. Today I’m joined by Mister Frank Herbert, newly-appointed education writer for the _Seattle Post-Intelligencer_ \- though he’s perhaps better known for the blockbuster novel _Dune,_ still selling strong after four years on the shelves.” He turns from the camera to his guest, just offscreen. “I’m so glad we could finally find time to sit down together.”

He and the author exchange pleasantries. And Frank seems…. normal. When prompted, he delivers eloquent monologues about philosophy, politics, and religion. He offers tidy little teasers on the book’s themes, like he probably already has on talk show after talk show after talk show. It’s a rehearsed interview, at least from his side, but it’s thorough and passionate.

“I wonder how you feel about the young people who claim your work has inspired them to write fiction themselves,” the host says, about halfway through the runtime. “In fact, our guest last week, the local author of _Last Starship from Troghar,_ named you as one of his strongest influences. What words of guidance do you have for rising writers like him?”

Klaus, already losing his concentration again, pauses the video. God damn. Did nerds really have nothing better to read in the sixties?

He opens a new tab and types in the book title, guessing the spelling as well as he can. 

The first page of results leaves him frozen in his seat.  
  


  
**_Last Starship from Troghar_ **

**_Novel by Dave Katz_ **

  
  


He clicks through. He finds the 1968 release date. He sees a classy black-and-white headshot of him staring into the camera, right on the cusp of thirty. 

Dave survived.

Not only did he survive. He lived. _God,_ did he _live._

A cursory search reveals that he was discharged from the military for medical reasons in February of 1968, and he passed away only two years ago, quietly and calmly, with his sister and best friend at his side. In the middle are nearly fifty years, when he was a homeowner, a tutor, an activist, a hobbyist carpenter, a known Spaghetti Western enthusiast, and the author of a cult-followed science fiction book trilogy. 

To hell with _Dune._ Klaus immediately signs off of the computer and plunges into the maze of bookshelves behind him.

It definitely takes him longer than he thought it would, but he almost laughs with relief when he finds it. Under “Katz”, there are two copies of _Supernova,_ marked with a number 3. And then there’s one paperback copy of _Last Starship from Traghor._

He slides it off the shelf and cradles it in two hands, like a fragile artifact. The cover’s background is a deep blue color. It depicts the rocky, desert surface of a far-off planet. At center, a small blond figure in blocky armor stands strongly with his back to the viewer. With one arm, he reaches up as far as he can, towards a bright white star. 

  
  


…

…

...

  
  


**_“Be still. You’ll be safe from Ackhel as long as you’re here,” he said to her, in a manner both tender and urgent. “I know you’ve come a long way for this. Make yourself at home, Kas.”_ **

  
  
  


“So, right now, they’re just trying to avoid Patrox and Ackeel?” Vanya asks.

The next day, the three siblings are collected in the private study room they’ve unofficially adopted. While Vanya and Allison recline on one couch, Klaus sits forward on the other, across the low coffee table, trying his best to recount his first few hours with _Last Starship._

“I think it’s pronounced Ackhel,” he answers, still uncertain. 

Allison squints. “Which one was Ackhel?”

“The Daellian sergeant,” Klaus says. “He’s got the eyepatch, and he’s inherited a vow of vengeance against the people of Nawei.”

“Okay,” Vanya interjects, “but didn’t Kas, like, renounce the Nawei?”

“Just their Code of Prophecy,” he explains. “Not the whole thing.”

“Which one is Kas again?” asks Allison.

“The Oracle.” His eyes drift to the ceiling as he recalls the relevant information. “She swooped in and woke Destinn up from the Soul Sleep in the beginning, and now Destinn has a weird crush on her, but he’s all emotionally constipated, and she’s like this distant higher being on her own mystical journey that doesn’t make any sense yet.”

“Woah, wait.” Vanya raises her hand. “Who’s Destinn?”

Klaus’s shoulders droop. He drops his head into his hands.

“...the main guy.”

Allison laughs. “I’m sorry, but God, there’s just too many of these characters to keep track of already.”

“I know, I know, exactly,” Klaus agrees. He tosses the book onto the coffee table and sits back, embodying exhaustion. “Mister Frank Herbert was a _dirty slut_ for exposition, and apparently, so is my dead ex-boyfriend from the sixties.”

…

…

…

  
  


In any other reality, Klaus would be clawing at the walls by now. He might declare Allison a narc and a killjoy, or he might go off and crash the Academy himself, or he might sneak around in the night to get another taste of the life he’d left behind in 2019. But he’s always had a rather obsessive personality. Amidst the crushing losses the family has suffered and the slow-boil horror of existence in an alternate timeline, his recent fascination and persistent anxieties surrounding _Last Starship_ have become a vacuum for his attention.

It’s been two days since the Internet search that shook him to the core. He’s known that Dave is a very real part of recorded history. He’d seen a video thumbnail or two or three and had clicked away before he could actually count them up. He just couldn’t bring himself to take it all in. That is, until this morning, when he woke up with a start, and he was the first one ready to head out for the library.

On some level, he knows it’s silly that he’s put off watching this for so long. He can’t verbalize why it scares him so much - it’s just a video. It’s just lights and color and audio that sounds like it was recorded with a can on a string.

The clip is labelled “Bay Area Reads - 12/27/1968 - Last Starship from Troghar”. His pulse is pounding as he hears the buzzing and crackling of the beginning of the video. The familiar host appears on the screen. Tweed coat. Black tie. In his hands is a crisp, new hardcover copy of _Last Starship_ , glossy blue cover and all.

“And we’re back,” the host begins, transitioning from a commercial break. “Joining us this afternoon is one of San Francisco’s own. He’s a young rising writer, an army veteran, and the author of the critically acclaimed _Last Starship from Troghar_.” He taps the book against his desk. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome David Katz.”

Polite studio applause rises from the audience. The camera cuts over.

“Thank you, Steve...”

Klaus slams down on the space bar and brings his hands to his face. That voice - _his_ Dave’s voice, dark and strong but decidedly gentle - nearly gives him a heart attack.

He stares at the frozen video. Dave is sitting right beside the host’s desk, in a shining dress shirt. He has that same frame, that same squared jaw, and that same one-sided grin. He rests his arm on the silver handle of a wheelchair. He’s still seated upright, and his legs are just outside of frame.

He’s grown out his golden curls and styled them back into a sort of mullet. Klaus can find it in his heart to forgive him for that (it‘s almost the seventies, after all). He’s still just as beautiful as he‘s ever been - through the shadows of the jungle, under the warm lights of the Saigon bar, and in the rosy glow of dawn through their motel room window. And though Klaus has been reading his words for days, to actually see him - to actually _hear_ him - just makes him so undeniably _real._

“Hi again,” Klaus whispers.

And he’s still for a long time, letting a string of tears drip effortlessly down his cheeks. He can’t bring himself to stop staring at this frame, at this singular moment, where Dave is proud and smiling and so incredibly alive. It makes Klaus keep smiling too.

At some point, he feels a pair of arms from behind hug him over his shoulders.

”Oh,” Allison says, softly. She bends down to get a better look at the screen, face right beside Klaus’s. “He’s cute.”

Klaus can only nod. Then, he laughs.

It’s an uneven, teary little giggle. He holds tightly onto Allison’s hand, letting all of this ridiculous joy wash over him. She squeezes right back. He just keeps laughing with her, voice breaking like the rattling of bells, until he’s forcefully shushed by an irritated librarian.

…

…

…

After he’s had a moment to breathe, and Allison has had a moment to run to Vanya and share the image, Klaus continues watching the video on his own. Dave is nervous, likely, but damned if he’ll let the folks at home know that. Klaus can feel his buzz of adrenaline through the screen. He passes a few introductory questions with flying colors - where he’s from, who has inspired him, and what the book is basically about.

“A lot of people suspect that the Trogharian Conflict is used to make commentary on the Vietnam war,” the host proposes.

Dave nods. “Oh, I sure as hell hope they do.”

Klaus grins. “Tell him, babe,” he mutters.

“Didn’t you yourself enlist?” The host asks. “At a young age?”

“I did.” He says. “And you know, I actually planned out big segments of the book while in service. But just, being out there and living it for four years or so can really change the way you see the world.”

“And change the way you walk, too, huh?” the host jokes.

Klaus cringes. Dave winces, a lot more subtly.

“Yeah, yeah.” He recovers well. “Was lucky enough to have a buddy in the army who was heading west. Helped me get my bearings. I should be getting my prosthetic soon, which’ll be a real lifesaver.”

“Now, you had a funny story about the circumstances of your discharge, if I recall; you told it to me before we started rolling.” 

“Right,” Dave answers, increasing in tempo now. Probably relieved to have such a clear cue. “So, what’s strange is that, right before I shipped out, I was cornered again and again by this crazy fortune teller, who was telling me all the stuff about the war, and warning that something awful was gonna happen to me.”

Klaus holds his breath. Crazy fortune teller. Right. Of course. He was just a crazy fortune teller.

Which is fine, obviously. That’s all he needs to be, in this timeline. Thank God that Dave only remembers him as a troubled psychic.

“February 21st, 1968,” Dave continues. _“So_ confident in that date, and really wanting to protect me. It was so unsettling that it stuck with me. For years.” He holds up his palms in confession. “So then, when that day came around, February 21st, I still had this bad feeling, and I fell back from the front lines.”

Klaus exhales. So that’s why it worked.

”It was the first time I turned away from the action,” Dave adds, and Klaus finds himself nodding. Dave was never one to disobey an order, or cheat it, or push back from danger. “And that’s when my injury happened.”

“Some rotten fortune teller, huh?” The host questions with a forward lean.

“Bitch,” Klaus murmurs.

“Yeah, well... We lost a lot of good guys that day,” Dave answers, more somberly. “I still think something worse might’ve happened to me, y’know, if I was up in front like I should’ve been.”

“And I’m sure we’re all very glad it didn’t,” the host sincerely says. “Thank you for your service.”

Piano music starts to rise in the background. The host turns to the camera. “We’ll be right back with Mr. Katz here, after a word from our sponsors.”

…

…

...

It’s a rainy afternoon when Klaus finds a radio interview online, dated 1983. It’s on the longer side, but he settles in, sketching little abstract swirls into the inside cover of _Last Starship_ as he listens.

“...And of course, I’d like to congratulate you on the release of your third book in the Troghar series, _Supernova.”_

“Thanks, man. Thanks so much.”

Dave’s voice has gotten bolder. He sounds more confident, breathing in the limelight as easily as air.

”Now, this might be akin asking a mother who her favorite child is...”

“I’m familiar enough with that one. Definitely my sister Sarah.” He mock-whispers: “Ah, just don’t let her know that.”

The host laughs. “Of your books, Dave. Do you have a favorite, in the trilogy?”

Dave sighs. “I mean, I didn’t set out to write a series, when I started. I kept going because of the reception the first one got. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had passion for every single chapter in this universe. It just kept giving me stories to tell, thank God. _But...”_ \- he adds with emphasis - “... _Last Starship_ probably has the most of me in it. Because I wasn’t writing it for anyone else yet.”

“I see,” the host replies. “What about your friends and family? Do you know their takes?”

“Sarah _did_ get a kick out of the twist in _Return to Itheus_ , for sure,” Dave recalls. “And John, my roommate... Jeez, he’s read all five of the scrapped endings for _Itheus_ , but _Last Starship_ is still his favorite”

“All five, you say?”

“Feels like it,” Dave says. “Bless him. I’ve mentioned this on other shows, but he moved in while I was writing the second book, and I’ve been running segments by him to proofread ever since.” Klaus can hear the smile in his voice. “He’s my harshest critic. But it’s always because he knows I can do better.”

“It can be an isolating life, as a writer,” the host comments. “It’s nice to have such a good friend in your corner.” There’s a soft shuffling of paper as he finds his next prompt. “I wanted to talk with you about your literary influences. Throughout the series, you’re quite liberal with your allusions to mythology. Kas’s name, for instance, is no doubt a reference to the Greek Oracle Cassandra. Would you like to speak a bit more about the stories that...“

“Hey, Klaus?”

He looks up from the tangle of stripes and circles under his pen. Vanya, typing across the table, has leaned over from behind the computers to address him. He tugs his headphones off. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think you can do that with a borrowed book,” she says, glancing at his doodles.

Oh. Klaus wasn’t even thinking about it.

“They only have the one copy. They won’t even notice it’s gone.” He offers a casual shrug. “Or we buy it from them. Do you think they have a military discount?”

Vanya sighs and returns to her computer screen. “I am _not_ going with you to the front desk to ask.”

…

…

...

The three are absently chatting in their study room one evening when Allison starts reading off mildly humorous quotes she’d encountered in _From the Earth to the Moon._

“‘Alluding to the extent of Florida...” She begins, laying stretched out on her own couch, “‘a mere peninsula confined between two seas, they pretended that it could never sustain the shock of the discharge, and that it would ‘bust up’ at the very first shot. ‘Very well, let it bust up!’ replied the Floridans, with a brevity of the days of ancient Sparta’.”

“Even back in the 1860’s,” Vanya smirks, “People had a problem with Florida.”

”They deserve it,” Allison replies, putting her book down to emphasize her point. “I did a shoot on location at the theme parks one time. They barely know how to drive down there.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, was it a bumpy ride for you in the back of your stretch limo?” Klaus teases. “Or did you fight for your life on I-4 in a rickety pick-up truck like the rest of us?”

Allison rolls her eyes and flips through the pages. “Oh, whatever.”

“When all this shit gets sorted out,” Klaus goes on, engaging Vanya as well, “We’re taking a road trip to Miami. Or Tampa! You guys have seriously missed out.”

“Woah, woah,” Vanya says, holding up a hand. “When have _you_ gone to Florida?”

Klaus pauses. He frowns. “Hard to say,” he replies. “I just remember waking up in the passenger seat halfway through Georgia. But it doesn’t deserve this blatant slander.”

“Sure,” Allison says. “If you want, next time, you can go get marooned in _Florida_ for three years.”

“And what, witness the assassination of Pitbull?” Klaus shoots back. “No thanks.”

  
  


…

…

…

  
  


That evening, Klaus finds another television interview, dated February 1969. The program is a morning talk show called _Santa Clarita Sunrise,_ which sounds like a substance Klaus probably blacked out on sometime in his mid-twenties. The set is much more brightly-colored. The host’s polka-dotted dress is atrocious.

“One of your leading female characters, Kas of the Nawei, possesses a number of... _masculine traits_ ,” She prompts at one point. “Now, this is the sort of thing you can expect from fringe writers - pulp fiction sort of things - but I was wondering if you could talk a little bit about it here.”

Dave is getting better at this. Gradually. He’s seated in a chair now, at the large white table at the center of the whole show.

“Well, what you have to remember is that we’re seeing the story from Destinn’s point of view. Kas is female from a Daellian perspective. But she is of a different people,” he says, carefully. “You know? And arguably - if you asked them - a more enlightened people. These things don’t tend to matter in the structure of society that they’ve built, lightyears away from our own. The whole ‘what is a man?’ ‘what is a woman?’ question just... doesn’t concern them.”

He sits back and conversationally appeals to the studio audience. “Besides,” he says, “there’s a goddamn interplanetary war going on. I think they all got more important things to worry about.”

A chorus of sensible audience laughter follows, right on cue. The host smiles. “I guess that’s true, isn’t it?” she comments. She moves on. “It’s revealed to us in the fourth chapter of _Last Starship_ that she has rejected the codes of the Nawei. What does all that mean, exactly?”

“It means plenty,” Dave answers easily. “It means some rather important things that date back several centuries in Trogahrian lore, and I think our guests here will have to read that for themselves. I’d hate to unravel the whole mystery here on the show. But, ah...” He glances down and scrounges for a more satisfying response. “What I _will_ say is… it certainly means something to Destinn. I think that, for a lot of the story, she represents this freedom that, up until this point, he’s never even _allowed_ himself to dream of having. Everything about Kas is a little revolution. And that’s part of what keeps him so drawn to her. This admiration, and this sort of existentially-perplexed feeling as well.”

Klaus hums a little in mindless response, resting his chin in his own hands. He’s happy to hear Dave sounding so thoughtful and artistic, but with that particular word choice, he remembers how grateful he is that Five is the one currently dealing with Christopher. Just at the thought of it, he can almost feel his head throbbing like it did on the family’s first day back, when that polygonal asshole hijacked their brains with those existential nightmares. 

…

…

…

They’re back in their private study room. Klaus and Allison sit side-by-side on one couch. Vanya stands at the front with a brief print-out in her hands. It might be trembling, the slightest bit - it had taken her the longest time to start reading long passages aloud - but her face is focused and brave.

“...‘I still see her wistful eyes in the reflections of pearls worn by strangers walking past,’” she reads. “I still feel her gentle touch in wild fields of flowers, where grass dances in the wind at your feet. I still hear her warm honey voice in the echoes of old-fashioned lullabies. More than giving me a heart to call home, she brought beauty and hope back into my grey and blurry view of the world.’” With a steadying breath, she finishes out the chapter. “I play back the words she said to me, that evening in her golden living room. And I think that _she_ let me out of _my_ box, too.”

She looks up from the page with a meek, nervous smile on her face. Allison immediately stands up and holds out her arms.

“Vanyaaaaa,” she calls, and Vanya sets down the paper and walks right into her embrace. She holds her close. “Why’ve you been hiding this from us for so long?”

“The Sissy stuff is hard to put into words, I guess,” she answers, muffled in part by Allison’s shoulder. They pull apart. “I miss her,” she explains. “A lot. But I’m grateful she helped me not want to be so scared of myself. And that stayed with me, even when my memories came back.” She shakes her head. “I know, I was only with her for a little bit. It sounds crazy.”

Klaus is standing, now. He pulls Vanya in for another hug. 

“Not crazy, Vee,” he says, setting his head atop hers. “And this fricking family _knows_ crazy.” Vanya squeezes him a little bit tighter in response.

…

…

...

_“And congratulations on the success of your second installment, Return to Itheus. Though I do think it’s my responsibility to ask the question that’s on everyone’s minds.”_

_“Oh? What question is that?”_

_“Many fans anticipated that Destinn and Kas would finally get together in this sequel. But that didn’t seem to happen. Do you have any thoughts on that?”_

_“Yeah, I guess. I’m sure Destinn has had plenty of thoughts on it, but that just can’t be helped. He’s been trapped in his role on Daell for as long as he can remember, and then here comes Kas to free him. And Kas is beautiful, and compassionate, and strange, and sort of terrifying.”_

_”Mm.”_

_”But to me, no moment in their relationship will ever be as important as the day they first met.”_

_”The day he wakes up.”_

_”Exactly. And maybe things would've been different, you know, if the stars aligned that way. But in this particular lifetime, Destinn didn’t need Kas to show him how to love. He just needed her to remind him to live.”_

...

...

...

Dave’s author website - low-tech and brightly-colored, out-of-date for several years - says to address all fan mail to 4370 Clover Ave, in a small rural town in the next state over. Apparently, after the decades he’d spent in San Francisco, he wanted to retire in a place a little bit more like the homey country of mid-century Texas. And his obituary, deep in the library’s archives of news publications, places his burial within ten miles of the house address.

For the first time since Training Days at the Academy, Klaus rises at dawn. 

The hard train seat hums and jolts beneath him as he reads. He’d gotten a row of two to himself and leaned in close to the window, where the lights of stone tunnels and flashes of smogless blue skies flicker by. He’s about ninety percent sure they pass by the Murder Woods surrounding Harold Jenkins’ grandmother’s house.

He’s dressed as nicely as he can manage, for whatever this morbid mission of his is, with a smooth black shirt beneath his waistcoat and his hair tied back. He rubs his dog tags between his fingers, leaning back, concentrating on the final chapter of _Last Starship._ The book looks well and thoroughly used, now. The spine is bendy and tired. The jacket has softened at the edges. Page markers of every color in the neon rainbow stick up from the tops of several pages past.

  
  
  


**_“Are you ready to go?”_ **

**_Destinn gathered himself from the gravel and looked up. Beyond the ashy wasteland that had become of Daell, far from the barren battlefields of Troghar, was a vast azure sky, deep and unending. A thousand stars filled his sight, with millions more just beyond The Belt’s reach. It was a cruel tempest of light and chaos that he could hardly bear the thought of crossing through once more. Still, there was a call out there for him, a voice screaming to be heard._**

**_“Go where?” He asked._ **

**_The General followed his gaze to the abyss above. Then, a crinkle came to his weary eyes._ **

**_He simply said, “Forward.”_ **

  
  
  
  


The cemetery is pretty empty, for the late morning. Klaus thanks the Girl on the Bike that he’s had three years to develop his powers - otherwise, he’d quickly become overwhelmed by the self-tortured spirits that still lay moaning inside of their graves, with no power to move on and no better place to wander.

He finds Dave’s headstone, topped with a star. There’s his full name etched in thick lettering. There are his dates of birth and death, 1939 and 2017. A small American flag is jammed into the ground at a slight angle. Klaus kneels and sets down the small bundle of flowers he’d picked up from a mom-and-pop florist on the walk over - a simple cluster of white and pink, surrounding a bright red rose.

He doesn’t waste his sorrow on the sight of the grave itself. It’s almost never the reminders of someone’s absence that tear into him (how could they, when he has such a unique and terrible relationship with death itself?). But he does sit there for a moment, on his knees before the headstone. He fishes his dog tags out from his collar and presses them to his lips. It’s become a strange little centering habit of his. 

Without even calling out to him, he knows Dave isn’t here. But Dave hasn’t moved on, either. He’s lingering somewhere, patiently, in a terminal of sorts. Waiting for someone.

As Klaus leaves the cemetery, he tucks his dog tags back into his shirt. He relies on public transportation for his main destination. The buses here are cleaner and shinier and smell significantly less like weed than those in the city.

4370 Clover Ave is an adorable two-story with wide curtained windows and a well-kept garden. The path from the sidewalk to the front step feels eight miles long. Klaus doesn’t have an exact plan. He usually doesn’t. But all of his nervous energy finally catches up to him here, on the stone walkway.

Somehow, he’s made it onto the porch. He rings the doorbell and hears its muffled chime from inside.

After a moment, the door opens. The man behind it is in respectable shape for what must be his seventies. He’s on the slender side, but he’s still retained a good amount of weight. The white hair on his head is retreating quickly but hasn’t fully surrendered yet. He wears a thick wool sweater. In one hand he holds onto the doorknob, and in the other is a sturdy metal cane. He peers at Klaus with small greenish eyes through thick-framed glasses.

“Oh, hello,” he says - startled, but kind. He talks slowly yet clearly. “Can I help you?”

Klaus’s chest immediately warms to the old man. 

“Yeah!” He says, weak and high-pitched. “Hi. It’s so...” There’s an uncontrollable smile spreading onto his face. He takes a deep breath. “It’s just so nice to meet you.”

The man squints in confusion. “Is it?” He tentatively chuckles.

“Yes,” Klaus answers. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Where are my manners?” He reaches out a hand. “Klaus Hargreeves.”

Though still lost, the man shakes it. “Johnathan. Feinman.”

Klaus nods. “Johnathan,” he murmurs happily. “Wonderful to meet you, Johnathan. You have no idea.” 

He realizes he’s probably coming off as insane. He does his best to get a handle on this confounding flood of emotions. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out _Last Starship_.

“I’m a big fan of Dave’s,” he explains, holding it up a bit. “And my house is just a few hours away, and I just... I wanted to see the place where he lived. He’s been such an inspiration to me.”

Which isn’t a lie. It just might not be true in the way that Johnathan assumes.

“Well, I’ll be.” He shakes his head incredulously. “Fans haven’t shown up like this since the nineties. I figured the world had moved on.”

“Well...” Klaus shrugs. “...Some things you think are gone for good, and then... they get a second chance like you‘d never believe.”

Johnathan nods. “You’re alright, Klaus,” he says. He takes his hand off the knob and leans it more comfortably against the door frame. “So. You’ve seen the place. What can I do for you?”

“I just...” Klaus hesitates, the slightest amount. He still has no idea where to start. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“Nah, nah.” Johnathan makes a carefree swatting motion. “I think Law and Order reruns can wait.”

“Okay, well...” Klaus tucks the book back into his bag. “I guess I wanted to know a little more about him,” he says, wringing his hands. “About Dave. And how he lived his life. I mean, you two were together for a long time, right?”

“Oh, we became friends _way_ back, when we were living in California,” Johnathan agrees, reminiscing. “And we’d been housemates ever since.”

Klaus tilts his head forward.

 _“Come on,_ John,” he mutters, gesturing vaguely at his own appearance.

It takes a moment for the man to catch up. Then, he smiles, almost conspiratorially. 

“1973,” he says. “We were together for forty-four years.”

“Shit,” Klaus breathes. “That’s amazing.” And God, does he want every piece of Dave’s story that John can tell him, front to back and front again, but he struggles to choose a single coherent question. “What, um... what was he like?” He attempts. “When you first met him. Right after the war and all that...?”

To his surprise, Johnathan chortles. “Ah, what the hell?” He glances inside the house, then back at Klaus. He points a thumb back. “Do you want to come in? I’ll put on some coffee.”

Klaus’s heart surges. “Oh,” he says, dumbly. “Really? You don’t mind?”

“‘Course I don’t mind. It’s been lonely around here lately. You’re alright with cats?”

“Love them,” Klaus answers. He holds out his hands defensively. “I mean, they tend to hate me with a fiery passion. But we love anyway. Right?”

Johnathan pauses and looks carefully over Klaus. His hands. His bag. His hair. His eyes. 

After a beat, his smile only deepens. Now Klaus is the one who feels out of the loop. For a moment, he‘s terrified that he’s said something wrong. 

“What?” He asks.

“Nothing,” Johnathan replies. “...I just think he really would’ve liked you.”

Klaus’s face goes hot and fuzzy. He notices his eyes are more watery than they were a moment ago.

“Appreciate it,” he manages.

And he does. Every part of this.

Johnathan steps back, pressing open the door into the cozy living room.

“Go on. I’m sure you’ve come a long way for this,” he says. He gestures inside. “Make yourself at home, Klaus.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I wrote….. literally almost all of this……. before googling the fake ass name to this fake ass book…… and discovering a real ass book written in nineteen-sixty-fuckin-nine……….. called Last Starship From Earth….…….. where Judas Iscariot is a time traveler sent from the future to kill Jesus …….………… and I just decided to pretend I didnt see it……….


End file.
